


I Held My Tongue

by buckybleeds



Series: Transatlanticism [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Anal Sex, Anal Training, Child Abuse, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Doctor/Patient, Exploitation, Extremely Dubious Consent, Fifteen Year Old Medically And Sexually Abused By His Doctor, Forced Prostitution, Fuck Or Die, Long-Term Abuse and Medical Rape, M/M, Medical Torture, Medical Trauma, Prostate Milking, Rough Sex, Sexual Assault, Sexual Coercion, as in 'fuck me or I won't give you the medication you're otherwise too poor to afford', child sexual assault, i really cannot stress enough how not okay a lot of this fic is, large object insertion, the stucky stuff is nice tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:54:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25996342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buckybleeds/pseuds/buckybleeds
Summary: 1940s Steve is sexually exploited by his doctor for a decade in exchange for medication that he can't afford.(chronologically this story comes before "I'll follow you into the dark" but you do not have to read it for the other story to make sense)
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers/Original Male Character(s)
Series: Transatlanticism [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1886806
Comments: 10
Kudos: 105





	I Held My Tongue

**Author's Note:**

> DEAD DOVE. **DEAD DOVE**  
>  Please note that the abuse in this story starts when Steve is 15 years old. 
> 
> Let me know if there are any tags I missed.

Steve was on his back in Dr. Morton's office, eyes dry and chin set. 

_ This was the last time _ , he told himself. 

Dr. Morton started to move, rocking sickeningly into him. 

_ This was the last time _ , he promised himself. 

* * *

Sarah hadn't liked Dr. Morton from the start. 

She'd tried to have Steve seen by one of the doctors from the hospital and had an infuriating, embarrassing half-hour of being told it might be kinder if the Lord took the boy.

She'd written a dozen letters to ask for charity from the sort of men whose names appeared in the thick journals she saw in some of the doctors' instrument cases and got one reply, telling her to find a church if she wanted charity. 

She spoke to Father O'Shannon, who had arrived on the same boat as her and Joe and all their dreams, and Father O'Shannon had pressed her hands in his and prayed with her and, bless him, told her when she could send Steven to do some little chores around the church to see that he was fed every day, and mourned with her that he could not offer more unless things got to be dire with Steve in the hospital again. 

So she had very reluctantly brought Steve to see a man who said in the paper that he could work miracles with medicine, giving compassionate aid to families in need who could benefit from his program. 

It was nineteen thirty one and Sarah Rogers wanted her son to live. She'd try anything she could, even if it was taking him to a quack who shilled snake oil in the classifieds.

* * *

He'd subjected himself to the typical shame of one of Dr. Morton's interminable enemas, he'd climbed onto the exam table and placed his legs in the stirrups as directed, he braced himself for a dilator and cold, uncomfortably wandering hands.

"What are your plans, Steven, now that your charming friend has left you behind?"

Bucky had walked away from him last night, hat cocked on his head, frozen, fake smile on his face, bound for war. 

Steve swallowed hard and tried not to shiver as icy fingertips traced down his thighs. 

"Sir, I. I just need more asthma powder."

Dr. Morton smiled condescendingly.

"I'm your doctor, Steven. Don't you think I know what you need?" A cold hand settled on the back of his leg. A dry finger brushed over him. "I know that things are frightening these days. And I know that with your friend gone you'll be in a hard spot for rent. I can help you with that. I have friends who can help you with that."

* * *

Steve was pretty sure that Sarah thought he'd stopped going to see Dr. Morton when he'd introduced the concept of dilators. 

She'd frowned at the big man in his white coat and had said "no thank you," and had taken Steve home. 

But at fifteen Steve had a little money from deliveries and sweeping sidewalks and doing lewd little sketches on butcher paper for the grocer.

So Steve went back to the doctor. 

He'd said "Gee, maybe your experiments really can help me, but do you think I can still buy my heart tablets from you just in case?" and Dr. Morton had smiled glowingly at him and called him a lovely young man.

He'd set aside a bottle of pills on the counter, handed Steve a tin of Vaseline, and talked him through the painful, humiliating process of inserting a finger-thick dilator into himself and manipulating it until his little cock was flushed and hard and getting wet at the tip.

He had Steve lay back at that point and took over handling the rubber tool himself, relentlessly prodding at a place inside of Steve that sent shivers of heat shuddering through him until he came on the hem of his shirt and his insides felt sore and swollen and open. 

Steve was gasping and shaking and a small part of him was screaming. Dr. Morton stood over him, shaking his head. 

"It's worse than I thought," the doctor said as Steve's hands came up to hide his cock from Dr. Morton's disappointed glare. "Do you touch yourself, Steven?"

Steve turned red where he was still panting on the exam table. 

"That's what I thought. Now that we've been able to test your reactions with the dilator I can say with some confidence that a great many of your ailments may have a glandular origin. You must refrain from any untoward actions with yourself if we're going to make any progress."

The ceiling over Steve looked watery and bright. 

"Take the dilator home. I've got an instruction packet for you to take with it. Come back next Thursday night after the office is closed and we can attempt another expression and see if there have been any improvements."

Steve didn't say anything but his chest hitched as he sat up and wrapped his arms around himself. 

Dr. Morton tapped his knee and handed him a paper bag. 

"No charge for your heart tablets this week. So long as you're using them alongside the other treatment you're helping me out and participating in my experiments, and you have my thanks for assisting in data collection."

Steve took the bag. 

"I'll have your asthma medicine after next week's appointment."

Steve didn't say anything but he felt the way the doctor's eyes moved over him as he tried to tuck his shirt in far enough to hide the wet spot on the hem.

* * *

"I won't need help with the rent, I spoke with a new recruiter last night. I'm going to join the army."

Dr. Morton scoffed. 

"Steven, I've been your physician for ten years. You are clever and bright, but it is obvious to me that you are unfit for military service."

Steve shook his head. 

"It's an experimental program. I signed papers, I'm expected for basic training next week."

They'd long since dropped the pretense that the dilators were anything other than Steve's payment for his medicine, that Steve was anything more than a whore letting a client fuck him the way he liked. 

"Then I suppose this is the last time I'll be seeing you for a while."

"Maybe the last time I'll ever need more asthma medicine, if the experiment works," Steve tried to give the doctor a hopeful smile but it died on his face. 

Dr. Morton was slipping off his white coat and unbuttoning the cuffs of his shirt. 

He was a large, handsome man with a head full of gray hair and a body well-maintained for his age. 

Steve couldn't remember ever seeing him without his white coat. Its removal revealed a body that was imposing in a way that Steve had never perceived before now.

"I had hoped, Steven, that in the absence of distractions and naysayers you and I could develop a more involved working relationship."

With his coat off and his sleeves rolled up he came back to stand between Steve's spread legs. He ran his cold hands over Steve's knobby knees and down his lean thighs. 

"If that can't happen I suppose we'll have to make the most of the time we have."

Steve decided he'd had enough and tried to sit up only for the doctor to put a hand on his chest and lean his weight over Steve.

"I don't think I need more asthma powder, actually. I think you'd better let me up."

"They're expecting you at basic training in a week?"

Steve's stomach went cold. Dr. Morton smiled. 

"That will give you plenty of time to heal."

* * *

About every two months Dr. Morton sent Steve home with another dilator. The new tool would be larger, or have a curve to it. One looked like six little scoops of ice cream stacked one on top of the other. 

Every time Steve went to the doctor he was dilated and worked to emission. Eventually the instructions coming home with him were no longer to simply insert the tool but to apply it to the gland inside of him and manipulate it until he was hard and leaking but to stop before it triggered an emission, and to do this twice a week. 

When Steve was sixteen he reached out, grabbed a handful of his best friend's hair, and they'd kissed each other stupid for hours. A week later he put his mouth on Bucky for the first time. A week after that he asked if Bucky wanted to do more and Bucky had blushed and stammered and said he didn't know how to, which was when he found out about Dr. Morton’s special treatments.

He'd looked at Steve with a combination of outrage, devotion, and hunger that made them dissolve into giggles on Steve's bedroom floor. 

Steve had kissed Bucky again, and put his mouth on him, and showed him the tricks he'd learned with his collection of rubber and steel tools. 

Bucky had been panting and glowing afterwards when he'd taken Steve's hand. 

"He does that to you? Your doctor?"

Steve nodded and kissed Bucky's forehead. 

"Not exactly like that. But. Yeah. He does that."

Bucky bit his lip. 

"He shouldn't. I don't know much about medicine but that ain't medicine."

Steve shrugged and curled in on himself a little. 

"If I let him ma doesn't have to pay for the pills anymore."

Bucky hugged him. 

"That ain't right, Stevie."

Steve shrugged again. 

"Maybe not, but I've got my medicine."

* * *

Dr. Morton had always liked touching him, but he'd never put those cold fingers inside of Steve before, and he gasped at the sensation.

"I should call every recruiting center in the state. I should tell them you're my patient, that I've been treating you for years, and that you're an incurable homosexual who needs weekly anal stimulation to function."

Steve just stared up at the bright ceiling. 

"Years of effort wasted on you. Just when it's time for your full potential to be realized you sign yourself up to be some kind of medical freak."

Steve snorted at that. 

"That ship has sailed,  _ doctor _ ."

His jab turned into a wince as the doctor hooked his fingers on the inside of Steve's hole and pulled up hard. He struggled to sit up again and again the doctor put a hand on his chest and pinned him to the table. 

"At least I know I don't have to get you ready for this. You've been ready for years, haven't you, you little faggot," his fingers pulled out and if his hands were cold at least his cock was hot enough to feel human. 

Steve grunted and flinched as the doctor fucked into him, aware of what was happening but unable to believe it was real. 

"You open up just like I trained you to, don't you? Easy to ride as an old mare."

* * *

Bucky liked fucking Steve, he liked getting fucked by Steve, and he loved it when Steve fucked him with the big things Dr. Morton gave him, but seeing Steve use the dilators always upset him.

Some more than others.

"Why do you bother," he asked, letting Steve breathe a minute before pushing another inch of wrist-thick rubber into him. "The old letch won't know if you actually practiced with these."

Steve took a shuddery breath and bore down against the large device, trying to take it easier. His cock was limp and soft between his legs, his hair was wet with sweat. 

"Doesn't matter," he gritted out, "he'll use something like it on me whether I'm ready or not, I'd rather be ready."

"Jesus, Steve. Please, you gotta - there's real doctors out there, stop going to this creep."

Steve nudged Bucky with his knee. 

"C'mere. Let go of that thing and give me a kiss."

Bucky released the dilator and crawled up over Steve until he could duck down and press their mouths together. 

Steve whined a little and bit at Bucky's lips before grabbing his hair and dragging him into a deep, lingering kiss.

Bucky was pink and breathing heavy and looking a little happier when he pulled back. 

"I know you wanna look out for me, and God knows I need it. But there's nowhere else in the city that I can get all my medicine for two dollars a month and you know it."

Dr. Morton still charged him a nominal fee for his appointments to keep up appearances but they both knew that wasn't how he paid. 

"So let me help, I'll get another job, or we can ask the church or see if there's charities or something. Don't go back. It ain't right."

Steve kissed him hard again. 

"It ain't right, but it is what it is."

* * *

The worst part was that it didn't hurt. The doctor had slicked up his cock before he pushed it inside and he was right. He'd had nearly ten years to train Steve to take it up the ass and Steve’s well-practiced ass opened like he was hungry for it.

"I should make sure they'll never take you," Dr. Morton panted, "I'll never find another one like you, Steven - look like a kid and ride like a whore."

Steve clapped a hand over his mouth to keep from screaming. 

_ This was the last time this man would touch him _ , he promised himself. 

"Look at how good you take it," he thrust in deep and grazed Steve's prostate, making him feel good and feel awful for feeling good, "so sweet you could sell it. I had a plan, goddamnit. Stay and I'll work with you, help you find customers, take them here as patients. You'll get rich, kid."

Steve shook his head behind his hand and squinched his eyes shut. The doctor pulled his hips back to thrust again and Steve moved, kicking one leg free of the stirrups and bringing it to his chest to try to shove the other man away from him. 

He twisted his body and used Dr. Morton as a pillar to push off against to try to scramble up the length of the table. For a shining moment he felt the doctor's cock slip out of him. 

He thought he'd almost made it when a hand wrapped around his ankle and dragged him back until his hips were crushed against the edge of the table and he was attempting to kick wildly, legs too short to reach the ground. 

One of Dr. Morton's hands settled on the back of Steve's neck and the other grabbed his ass, pulling one cheek to the side to make it easier to force himself back into Steve. 

A high, frustrated whine made its way out from behind Steve's clenched teeth and he felt his resolve to keep quiet crumbling.

It didn't hurt but it made him feel sick and dirty and upset and inside-out.

_ I've only done this for Bucky _ , Steve realized, and the thought made him kick out uselessly again. 

* * *

Steve tried to hide his limp as he made his slow way home. 

He didn't think about the heavy weight of steel and rubber at the bottom of the paper sack he was carrying, he didn't think about the trickle on the inside of his thigh that he was pretty sure was blood. 

He did wonder where all of this was going, and was startled to realize that was the first time he'd thought to ask himself that question. 

Dr. Morton had been rougher than usual. The new dilator was distressingly large, as big around as Steve's fist for the whole length, and when his body didn't want to stretch to take it the doctor had sneered and shoved and Steve had torn, but it had gone inside of him. 

He made his slow way up the stairs. 

Bucky would be gone in a week. 

It made him jealous and furious and miserable.

Where was all of this going?

What was he going to do without Bucky?

Sure, the rent was a concern but Steve would figure it out. He didn’t know how he was going to survive the rest of it - coming home to a room that wasn’t full of hazy smoke, quiet nights without another warm body breathing in the bed, waking up to endless, unknowable days without a crooked smile on a sweet mouth. 

Steve opened the door and Bucky’s face lit up at him.

Where was all of this going?

* * *

There was a cold hand over his mouth and a cold hand on his hip and an intolerable, miserable heat rising in and out of him over and over as he tried uselessly to crawl away.

The dull lights of the office were spotty and haloed and Steve’s chest was rattling with a painful wheeze while the doctor kept fucking him, angling his thrusts to ride over Steve’s prostate with expert precision.

Steve clawed out his hands and reached for anything to pull himself away, knocking over a tray of sparkling instruments. The world seemed to slow down as he watched a heavy bottle of ether tumble to the floor in a rain of gauze and scalpels. 

Steve was suddenly aware that if he didn’t leave the office before the doctor could put his hands on that bottle he wouldn’t be leaving the office at all. 

“You’re made for this,” Dr. Morton grunted, “ _ I made you for this _ , and if you’re too stupid and selfish to see it I guess we’ll just have to work on educating you -” he fucked in deep and curved his hips and Steve sobbed and came weakly, humiliated by his body’s failure to resist the way it had been taught to respond. 

His hands dug over the examination table again and his right hand settled on a cold, smooth piece of steel that had been thrown off the instrument tray and rolled into a crease between the cushions.

“You’ll like it soon,” the doctor said, his hips rocking in faster as Steve’s body clenched around him, “you already like it, you’re just too foolish to know it-”

Steve pressed the scalpel in his fist against the back of the hand that was closed over his mouth and the doctor stopped moving. He pressed harder and the hand pulled away from his face.

“Get off me,” he said hoarsely. The doctor started to push back and Steve spun as fast as his aching body would let him, holding the sharp implement out with an unwavering grip and pointing it at the doctor’s throat. “Stand in the corner,” Steve said, jerking his head at the part of the room farthest from the door. As the doctor moved where Steve had told him to Steve kicked the bottle of ether under the table. He dug his pants out of the small pile of clothes by the door and pulled them on with one hand, keeping the scalpel pointed with the other. He ignored his drawers and socks and for once was thankful that his shoes were so big that he didn’t need to loosen them to get them over his feet. 

Steve tightened his belt enough that the pants wouldn’t fall immediately if he started to run. He hoped he wouldn’t have to - his chest was already burning with exertion and his breath was starting to whistle alarmingly in his throat. He coughed and took a deep a breath as he could.

“If I ever see you again I’ll kill you,” he said, and left Dr. Morton alone in his office with a bleeding hand and his pants around his ankles.

* * *

Logically he knew that Dr. Morton had never known his address, didn’t know where he lived, didn’t know any of his friends, didn’t know where he worked, and wouldn’t begin to be able to find Steve.

That didn’t stop him from packing up his things and presenting himself on Mrs. Barnes’ doorstep asking if he could maybe sleep in the basement for a week all while looking like he’d gotten in a fight with about six other guys.

Mrs. Barnes scolded him mercilessly and herded him into Bucky’s old room.

* * *

Everything felt awful. Too much. Colors were too bright, sounds were too loud. The air was heavy against his skin. 

It was disorienting to hear equally on both sides and it was making him dizzy. 

But his lungs were filling smoothly and everything he could see was sharp and clear and he stood straight and realized that he’d never realized just how much his back hurt every minute of the day.

Everything was a riot of motion and chaos, Peggy and Howard were talking to generals on the other side of the room. Nurses were scurrying around him, making him think deliriously of kittens trying to climb his ankles, while men in dark coats and hats indoors circled him and took photos.

Suddenly he was taller than everyone, bigger than everyone, and seeing clearly meant he could see exactly how many white coats were drifting closer and closer to him.

His stomach turned over.

“Steven, step up on the table please,” said someone he didn’t know.

Cold hands reached out to examine him.

Steve tried not to scream. He even mostly succeeded.


End file.
